


Only the Best (for My Baby)

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It all starts innocently enough when Kurt, idly browsing the Internet on his phone during his lunch break at Vogue, bookmarks a list entitled The Top 25 Most Important Wedding Decisions</i>. Because we all know that there are two groomzillas in this relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Best (for My Baby)

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this sometime around 5.10/5.11, before we knew where anyone would live in NYC. So, knowing what we know now, let's imagine that this is set sometime between 5.13 and 5.14, but Santana and Mercedes are there. Thank you, as always, to my lovely friend and beta [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/)!

It all starts innocently enough when Kurt, idly browsing the Internet on his phone during his lunch break at _Vogue_ , bookmarks a list entitled _The Top 25 Most Important Wedding Decisions_. He forgets all about it by the end of the day, but two nights later, when he and Blaine are bored in front of the television, he offers to print it. Blaine pounces on the idea, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Okay,” Kurt says, squinting at the paper. Blaine watches him expectantly from around the corner of the table, where he’s tugged his chair to the edge to be closer together. “Number one: date.”

Blaine nods seriously. “Okay. Well, we already decided on spring, next year or the year after. I guess we should look at a calendar — oh, my phone is charging in our room, hold on —” He starts to climb to his feet.

“No, wait.” Kurt shoots out a hand to catch Blaine’s wrist. “These first few are kind of boring. Let’s just skip ahead a little. We’re doing this for fun, after all.” 

Sliding back into his seat, Blaine nods agreeably as he watches Kurt’s eyes skim down the page. “That’s fine. You pick.”

Kurt’s face brightens, and he exclaims, “Oooh, cake!”

*

The door slides open about twenty minutes later, signaling Rachel's return from rehearsal, just as Kurt says, his voice strained, “Blaine, sweetie, I don’t care whether or not it’s traditional in Ohio. That’s not the issue. I just think it would be nice to enjoy the same cake as our guests.”

Blaine, sounding completely miffed, replies, “Kurt, there is no way you’d enjoy lemon cake more than cheesecake. I know it, and so do you. And it’s _our_ wedding. The people enjoying it most should be _us_.” 

Neither of them pay much attention as Rachel hangs up her jacket and takes cautious steps toward the table. When she's a few feet away, Blaine gives her a tight smile and a small wave, but Kurt just continues to look irritated. “Are you guys — fighting?” 

“Nope,” Kurt says, his voice all false brightness. “We’re planning our wedding.”

“Really?” she asks flatly, her disbelief clear.

Kurt frowns at her. “Yes, really.”

“We really are,” Blaine adds, and his voice at least holds a shred of genuine excitement, unlike Kurt’s.

The reaction is immediate: Rachel beams at them, and then claps her hands, scurries to the table, and takes an empty seat. “So what are you talking about? Did I hear something about cake?” She leans forward over her elbows, expectant. 

“You did,” Blaine says. “I was telling Kurt about an idea I had. It might be a little unusual, but just hear me out.” He shoots a look at Kurt, who rolls his eyes but keeps his lips pressed shut. “I was thinking that our main cake could be something more traditional, like chocolate, or better yet _German_ chocolate —” he glances at Kurt again “— but that we’d have a small cheesecake on the side just for the two of us. Sort of a twist on a groom’s cake, because we’re both grooms.”

Rachel grins. “Mmmm, that sounds delicious.”

“And as much as I love cheesecake,” Kurt interjects, drawing Rachel’s attention, “I think that we should just have one cake with a lighter flavor. I was thinking lemon with a fresh strawberry or raspberry filling and whipped buttercream frosting.” 

“Oh, god, that sounds amazing too,” Rachel groans. 

With a shrewd look, Kurt asks, “So, which one do you think sounds better?”

“Wow, I have no idea,” she replies. “That’s a really tough call!” There’s a moment of heavy silence, and when Kurt just continues to watch her evenly, she stammers, “Wait — you seriously want me to pick a side?”

Blaine cocks his head at her. “Don’t think of it as picking a side. Just… tell us which one you would enjoy eating more.” 

Rachel shifts in her seat, her eyes trailing uneasily from Blaine’s plastered-on smile to Kurt’s narrowed eyes. “Well, _naturally_ , I think that the two of you should decide. It is going to be _your_ wedding. And I won’t be able to eat any cake anyway — unless it’s made with vegan ingredients, of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, rehearsal absolutely wore me out tonight, and I think I’m going to turn in early.” They both start to protest, but Rachel is up and gone in seconds, trilling “good night!” as she disappears into her curtained-off room.

Huffing, Kurt turns back to Blaine. “Well? Now what?”

Blaine is frowning, but his face softens as he reaches hesitantly across the table to touch Kurt’s hand. When Kurt doesn’t pull it away, Blaine strokes his fingers delicately over the taut, soft skin behind Kurt’s knuckles. “Maybe we could just write down our ideas for now? And come back to that one later? I don’t think we’re going to make a decision tonight.”

Some of the tension eases visibly out of Kurt’s posture, and he attempts a small smile. “Yeah. Yes, okay. You’re right. We’re being ridiculous.” He scribbles a few words down on one side of the page and then tosses it and the pen aside. “Let’s go to bed?”

With a grin and a final squeeze of Kurt’s hand, Blaine agrees happily. 

If only that had been the end of it.

*

Blaine’s study group ends a little early the next Saturday, and he walks right into the middle of one of Mercedes and Kurt’s diva movie marathons. They’re not too far into _Some Like it Hot_ , and Blaine happily slips out of his jacket and into the space next to Kurt. “I thought you weren’t going to be around for Marilyn Day,” Kurt says, after wrapping an arm around Blaine and kissing his temple.

“We got done early,” Blaine explains, making himself comfortable against Kurt’s side.

“Hey, Blaine,” Mercedes greets him. “Hungry?” She offers him the popcorn bowl across Kurt’s lap, which he eagerly takes, and they settle into a comfortable heap on the couch.

They watch in companionable silence until Joe is sitting on the beach, posing as a millionaire. Then Kurt, without taking his eyes off the screen, leans down far enough to murmur in Blaine’s ear, “I’ve been doing some research about places we can go for our honeymoon that have great beaches _and_ a lack of oppressive laws against homosexuality, and I was thinking maybe St. Bart’s? Ellen and Portia went there for Christmas a few years ago.”

Instead of answering, Blaine pulls away, craning his head around and giving Kurt a dubious look.

“What?” Kurt says defensively. “Honeymoon destination is on the list. I just skipped ahead some more.”

“You want to go to the _beach_?” Blaine asks, fully incredulous. 

Mercedes shushes them sharply, glaring from the other end of the couch.

Blaine leans forward and contritely whispers “sorry!” around Kurt’s torso. Looking satisfied, Mercedes relaxes back against the couch.

They continue the movie for a few moments before Kurt asks Blaine, quietly, “Why wouldn’t I want to go to the beach? That’s what you do on a honeymoon.”

“Not necessarily,” Blaine replies. “I was going to suggest Paris or London. Someplace with great theater or great fashion. Milan!” 

Kurt is shaking his head before Blaine’s even done speaking. “No, honey, I’d just run you off your feet if we went somewhere like that. We’re both so busy as it is — we should go somewhere we can just relax.”

“Well, I’m sure we’re going to find time to —” Blaine drops his voice “— _relax_ no matter where we go on vacation, so why not go someplace we’ll both enjoy?”

“Do you really want our _relaxation_ to be crammed in between every sightseeing tour I can manage to schedule?” Kurt argues.

“Really do not need to be hearing this part of the conversation,” Mercedes deadpans, not taking her eyes from the screen.

Blaine cringes a little, but Kurt just scoffs. “Like you haven’t heard that and worse before.”

“Which is exactly how I know I don’t need to hear it again. Can we please just watch the movie?”

Kurt and Blaine sit back with grumbled _okays_ , and this time manage to stay quiet for almost five minutes before Blaine whispers, “You hate the beach.”

“Lord, give me strength,” Mercedes mutters.

Ignoring her, Kurt turns to look down at Blaine. “Who says I hate the beach?”

“You!” 

“Well, it’s not like there’s anything to recommend the Lima Lake reservoir,” Kurt says loftily. “I’m sure it’ll be different when we’re somewhere tropical.” 

“Maybe?” Blaine counters. “There’s still a lot of sitting out in the sun.” 

Kurt shrugs. “There are umbrellas. And canopies. And sunscreen.”

“Or you could forget about all of that and go to Paris. I never thought I’d have to try and talk you into going to Europe. Will you promise to at least consider it?”

As though she can’t hold herself back any longer, Mercedes snatches up the remote control and pauses the movie. “All right, boys. Neither one of you is going to have to consider anything if I’m forced to murder you both for talking through half of this movie. So, what’s it going to be?”

Kurt rolls his eyes and sits back in a huff, while Blaine passes the popcorn back with a muttered, “Movie, sorry.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mercedes says, pressing _play_.

*

“Long stem roses,” Blaine says quietly, his lips barely moving. “In crystal vases.”

Blaine knows Kurt well enough to know that he’s aghast, even though his expression barely changes as they continue to stroll along the sidewalk. “What about gerberas? Something really bright and colorful,” he returns, his voice equally low. 

At the suggestion, Blaine can’t help his eyebrows twitching up skeptically. “If you want colorful, what about orchids?”

Kurt’s shaking his head when Artie cuts the scene and they reset again at the end of the block.

“Lilies?” Kurt offers as they start walking again. They both turn their heads and look into the flower shop as they pass it for the third time. 

“Calla lilies?” Blaine counters.

Kurt frowns. “Those are white. I thought we were getting something colorful.” 

“There are colorful varieties. And they’re such a classic wedding flower,” Blaine says. “Much more so than gerberas. I mean, I like them, but we’re getting married in New York, not someone’s back yard in Lima.”

They’re supposed to be cheerfully chatting, but Kurt bristles at that. “I’m glad you think so highly of my ideas.” 

“Cut!” Artie calls. He wheels his way over to Kurt and Blaine, scowling. “Guys, I asked you to do this because I can’t afford to pay anyone to walk around in the background, but I would have scraped up the cash if I’d known you were going to argue through every take. You’re ruining the entire scene.”

“We’re not even talking loudly enough for you to hear us!” Kurt protests. 

Artie frowns at him. “That’s what you think.” A few of the other extras — friends of Artie’s from school — nod their agreement.

“Anyway, we’re not even arguing,” Blaine cuts in. “We’re just discussing options for wedding flowers.” 

“Sure,” Artie says, giving him a look that’s both completely unimpressed and unconvinced. “Look, can you two please can the bickering for five minutes so we can get this shot? Or at least pretend like you’re enjoying it?” He spins around and starts to wheel away, before calling over his shoulder, “Oh, and calla lilies are symbolic vaginas, so you probably want to go with something else. Let’s take it from the top!”

*

“No, but really, which of these do you like better?” Blaine asks, thrusting two blue fabric samples across the table at Sam. 

His eyes dart, panicked, between the two swatches. “Uh…”

“The answer,” Kurt interjects, “is neither. Because this one is clearly superior.” He holds out his selection. “A rich burgundy goes so well with Blaine’s coloring.” 

“And this sapphire looks much better with Kurt’s eyes,” Blaine argues, shaking the sample in his left hand. “I’m just afraid that something will go wrong and we’ll end up accidentally getting the azure instead, and that wouldn’t match the bridesmaids’ shoes at all.” He looks sadly at the other swatch.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure those are the same color,” Sam says through a mouthful of French fry. “And this is not what I thought we’d be doing when you asked me to meet up for lunch.” 

Kurt glosses over that, turning his attention fully to Blaine. “We are not planning the color scheme of our wedding around my _eyes_.”

“How is that any different than picking burgundy because I’ll look good wearing it?” Blaine argues hotly. “Do you really want a color that dark for a spring wedding anyway?”

“It’s a statement,” Kurt says with a sniff. “We’ll accent with something lighter.”

“Like sapphire?” Blaine asks, holding up the sample again hopefully.

“Oh my god, _no_.”

“What if you put both of them behind your back and pick one?” Sam offers helpfully. “Or I can hold them behind my back and you guys pick a hand.”

Kurt and Blaine both fix him with a look of utter disbelief, before going back to squabbling as though he hadn’t spoken.

“All right, then,” Sam mutters to himself as he pulls out his phone to play Tiny Death Star. Neither Kurt nor Blaine notice.

*

They can’t have been talking about it for more than ten minutes before Santana appears in front of them, wearing a nightie, a robe, and a murderous glare. “Tell me the two of you are not keeping me awake because you’re arguing about _fonts_ ,” she growls. “Tell me that’s not what’s happening here.”

“We’re not _arguing_ ,” Kurt protests. “I was just explaining to Blaine that a nice serif typeface looks so dignified, especially when it’s engraved.” He holds up a piece of paper for Santana’s examination.

Blaine quickly brandishes another sheet. “And while I absolutely agree with that, of course, _I_ think that a script font — something like this — is really elegant.”

Santana doesn’t look at either page, her eyes shifting back and forth between their faces instead, her expression entirely unimpressed. Kurt jiggles his paper impatiently, and Santana heaves a heavy sigh. “All right, Princess Brides. It’s time for a little talk with Auntie Snix.” She scoots around the coffee table littered with scraps of fabric, pages torn from magazines, and bits of ribbon to squeeze between them on the couch. “I know what you’re doing.”

“We’re trying to choose a font for our invitations,” Blaine says. “Obviously. And _obviously_ , it should be something like this,” he adds, tilting his sheet of paper toward her again.

Kurt starts to protest, but Santana silences him with a gesture, not even bothering to turn her head. “Because it’s the one you think Hummel would like best, right?”

Blaine frowns. “Of course.”

“And you —” she rounds on Kurt suddenly “— you’re picking that boring one because it’s what you think it’s what Blanderson would choose.”

“It’s not boring,” he objects, but Santana is talking again before the words have even left his mouth.

“That’s not the point. You picked it because you thought he would, didn’t you?”

Kurt looks down at the paper in his lap, scowling. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” she says decisively. “I’m glad we can all be honest with each other, because that means I can say that I always knew that between the two you, there would be enough groomzilla to flatten Tokyo ten times.”

“Like you wouldn’t have said that anyway,” Kurt mutters.

“But,” Santana continues, as though she hadn’t heard him, “I never thought it would be like _this_.” 

Blaine’s brow furrows. “Like what?”

“You,” she says, pointing at Blaine, “are trying to plan _his_ perfect wedding, and he’s trying to plan yours. _That’s_ why you’re bickering all the time. Like at eleven o’clock at night, when some of us have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to work the breakfast shift at the diner,” she finishes, her voice sweetly poisonous.

“Of _course_ I’m trying to plan the perfect wedding for Blaine!” Kurt exclaims. “I love him, and he deserves it after planning such a perfect proposal.”

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says fondly, leaning around Santana to smile at him. “Don’t be silly. You’ve been planning your wedding since you were old enough to pick up a bridal magazine. I’m going to make sure it’s everything you always dreamed of.” 

“…aaand I just got five cavities,” Santana drawls. “Anyway, I have a news flash for both of you, and I’m going to put this as delicately as possible.” She pauses dramatically before announcing, “Both of you are college students, and you’re dirt-ass poor and living off scraps from the diner. You can’t afford half the shit you’re talking about anyway.” 

“My parents are going to chip in some money for the wedding,” Blaine insists.

“And so will my dad and Carole,” Kurt adds. “Plus, we’re not getting married right away. We’ll save up.”

Santana shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Even with all of that, you’re not going to have hand-engraved invitations and a string quartet and glitter-encrusted swans and five hundred perfectly off white orchids with purple spots or _whatever_ ,” she spits, and Blaine looks appropriately abashed. “So all of _this_ —” she waves a hand “— all of this weird polite-fighting and covering the apartment with rhinestones and driving the rest of us insane is completely pointless.” She catches sight of the list — now covered in scribbles and words crossed out and rewritten — and snatches it up. “Let me see this thing. Here — look, look! Do you know what number two is on this list?”

“No,” Blaine says sulkily, while Kurt folds his arms over his chest.

“You lie like a rug, Anderson. Number one: date — which the two of you still don’t have, might I add — and number two: _budget_.” 

“We were getting around to it.” Kurt’s voice is lofty, his eyes focused on the far wall.

Santana snorts. “No, you weren’t. You were playing Ken and Ken’s Dream Wedding. Listen, this shit is serious business, so either grow up and treat this thing seriously, or shut up about it until you can.” 

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and then Blaine says, very quietly, “My dad sent me some spreadsheets to help me keep track of my money now that I’m on my own. Kurt, I would love to sit down sometime and see how much I can save for the wedding. It’ll probably help us figure out how long we’re going to have to wait to make this happen.” 

Kurt leans forward to smile cautiously at him. “Can you forward them to me too? And I’ll call my dad tomorrow to see, realistically, how much he and Carole are planning on giving us.”

“I’ll call my parents too,” Blaine adds. “And we can… start over?”

“Yes,” Kurt says with a grin. “I can’t wait. I love you.”

“I love you more,” Blaine croons, angling over so far that he’s practically in Santana’s lap.

“All right, all right,” she interrupts loudly. “I can’t be in the middle of this anymore. At least let me put in my earplugs before you start rubbing noses and dry humping, or whatever it is you pretty ponies do for fun.” She struggles out from between them with dramatic gestures, elbowing them both, probably on purpose.

Blaine just laughs, his eyes falling to the papers in his lap as Kurt scoots down the couch to kiss his cheek. “You know, this doesn’t really help us solve our font problem though.”

“Oh my god,” Santana snaps, turning away. “Put your names in the fancy one and the rest of it in the boring one. And learn to compromise.”

“You know,” Kurt says thoughtfully, “maybe a lot of these problems could be avoided if we had a good wedding planner. What do you think, Santana? Are you up for it?”

“I’m at the top of the list of things you can’t afford,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into her room. “Not even if you saved your allowance for the rest of your life.” The curtain sweeps dramatically shut behind her.

Blaine rolls his eyes and looks down at the wedding detritus strewn across the table. “What do you say we leave this to clean up tomorrow?” he asks, raising a hand to cup his face while he kisses underneath Kurt’s ear. “Wanna _rub noses and dry hump_?” he breathes into it.

Kurt giggles and stands, dragging Blaine to his feet and toward their own corner of the loft. “I think we can do better than that, don’t you?”

“Earplugs!” Santana calls dangerously.

“Better find them fast!” Kurt advises as he pushes Blaine down onto the bed and pulls their curtain closed.

**Author's Note:**

> The Lima Lake reservoir that Kurt refers to is [here](http://www.jampd.com/parks-facilities/ottawa-metro-park.aspx#.U12sGfldXGw).
> 
> Thank you for reading! :) Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/).


End file.
